He grabbed at my hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles, his face suddenly very serious. “I’m not married, Paige. I’m a lot of things, butneveracheater.”
My throat burned. Of course. How insensitive could I be? “Of course. I’m sorry,Ta—”
“What I meant was… am I still singlenow?”
Heat stirred in my chest and energy pulsed into my belly. What was he implying? That he wanted to date? To be something more than two people who went to high school together and had amazing chemistry that they finally acted upon? “Doyou wantto be singlestill?”
I held my breath, awaiting his answer as he paused. “I thought I did,” he said, his voice quiet and raspy. “I haven’t had a relationship in years. If you don’t commit to anyone, then they can’t betray your trust.” He faded off and I fisted the sheet around me tighter in my grip. “It’s how I operated always.” He blinked slowly, his mouth twitching. “Butnow…”
“Now?” Iprodded.
“Now… I’m not so sure. You’re incredible Paige. Never in a million years did I expect to be here in bed with you. Now that I am? I don’t think I’m ready to walkaway.”
My heart kicked in my chest and began beating rapidly causing the blood to roar in my head. “Wow. Taylor, I don’t know what tosay.”
“Do you like me,too?”
I nodded, unable to find the words to express how much I liked him, that I walked by his picture every day in the high school and wished I had been braver when we were teenagers. That at night, it was his eyes I dreamed of, his lips I remembered. Instead, I simply answered, “Yes. I like you. I always likedyou.”
He nodded, thoughtfully. “Good. Then let’s start there and see where this goes, yeah?” I swear my heart skipped a beat when he flashed his pearly white grin at me. “And to answer your earlier question, there’s a number of reasons I don’t sleep with fans. First of all, I play better when I don’t. Secondly, there’s a lot of bad shit that can happen in doing that. Remember that chick who Instagrammed a picture of herself with our quarterback after the Super Bowl? I don’t want that happening tome.”
“That’s terrible,” Iwhispered.
He grunted. “You have no idea.” His eyes drifted toward the clock on the wall behind me. I followed his gaze where the clock read a few minutes aftermidnight.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he whispered and it felt like he was telling himself this fact, not me. He was silent for a moment, his eyes creased like he was deep inthought.
“Itis.”
More silence. I reached up and brushed his sweat damp hair back from his forehead. “Youokay?”
He nodded, his eyes finding mine once more. “The last time I was in Maple Grove for a Christmas, my mother was stillalive.”
Shit. I forgot that his mom died the day after Christmas. My heart ached for him and for his mother, who never got to see her only son graduate high school, never got to see what an incredible and talented man he turned out to be. There was nothing I could say to that. It sucked. It freaking sucked and I knew just how he felt. “She would be so proud of you,” Iwhispered.
His lips tipped into a sad smile. “Thanks. Your mother would be proud of you,too.”
I snorted. It was sweet of him to say, but it wasn’t true. “Proud of what?” I gave up. I gave it all up. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. I told myself for years that I loved teaching—and it was true. Ididlove teaching. But I loved acting more. I missed the stage somuch.
“Hey,” Taylor said. His fingers nudged my chin, bringing my gaze back to his. “She would be proud of what an amazing, caring, dedicated woman she raised. Not everyone would leave everything to come home and care for an ill parent.” He swallowed hard. “I sure as hell didn’t when my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I didn’t even come home after hissurgery.”
I blinked. “I didn’t know he hadcancer—”
“He’s fine now. In remission. Look, I know your mom and I were never close. For what is now an obvious reason, she never warmed up to me. But how could shenotbe proud of you?” Tears welled in my eyes as the knot in my throatgrew.
We laid there together for several minutes in silence, and I listened to the deep, even pattern of his breath. It washypnotic.
“I’ve got a confession to make, Paige,” he said, breaking thesilence.
Oh, God. What was it? What bomb could he possibly drop on me after makinglove?
He sighed, pressing his lips together regretfully. “I actually hate musicaltheater.”
My jaw dropped. “What? How can you hate musicals? You starred inone!”
He shrugged. “I dunno. They’re just so fantastical… everyone breaking out in song and dance all thetime—”
“EvenGuys andDolls?”
